The Ginger with the Odious Mustache
by Ambur
Summary: "Oh Mr. Holmes," she said. "I'm so frightened. I am being followed." This is a Victorian Sherolly.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys...been thinking of this one for awhile It will be multi chapter.**

**This takes place in the Victorian era...circa 1890 or so. This story is actually taken in part by one of Doyle's. I hope you all enjoy the liberties that I have taken with it.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine :(**

**Read on my lovelies!**

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The young woman stared up at the door which read 221 Baker Street. She had already sent a letter by post informing Mr. Sherlock Holmes that she would call upon him this morning at 9 o'clock. She swallowed hard, her nerve beginning to fail her. Perhaps she was just being silly. The position was a highly paid one and there would only be one child for her to tutor and attend too.

She started to turn and leave when the sickly feeling in her stomach reappeared with a vengeance, affirming the need to go and seek the advice of Mr. Holmes. She turned back to the door and knocked before she lost her nerve. The door was opened by a kindly elderly woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson, the land lady of the building.

Mrs. Hudson led her inside and up the stairs to 221 B. Mrs. Hudson knocked and opened the door. "A young lady to see you, Sherlock," she said.

Sherlock Holmes turned from the fire place and looked shrewdly at the young woman. "Ms. Molly Hooper, I presume," he said in a deep baritone that sent shivers all through the young woman's body. "I received your letter this morning. Do come in and make yourself comfortable," he finished, gesturing to the sofa. Beside the sofa stood a fair haired man with a gentle face.

"Allow me to introduce my friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson," Sherlock said.

"How do you do, Ms. Hooper," John said smiling, offering her his hand. She stepped forward and shook his hand.

"Hello," Molly said softly.

Sherlock moved from the fire place. "Do sit down Ms. Hooper and relay to me in more detail these extraordinary events that you mentioned in your letter."

"I am not sure that you will find them extraordinary, Mr. Holmes," she said, sitting down. "I am unsure what to make of it myself. It could be nothing more than a trifle."

"Do let me be the judge of that, Ms. Hooper," Sherlock said in a commanding tone.

Molly blinked, clearly startled by his tone of voice. John cleared his throat. "Perhaps if you could just tell us what has occurred to bring you here, Ms. Hooper," he said gently as he sat down beside her.

"Very well," she said, staring at the carpet. "It was suggested to me that I contact you Mr. Holmes, by Lady McNair whom my deceased mother was good friends with. Lady McNair said that you had helped her husband find some very important political documents that were misplaced at one time and that you were very kind and thorough in your service." She did not see the amused expression that crossed Sherlock's features when she described him as kind. She looked up at him when he did not speak.

"Pray, continue," he said.

She nodded and sighed. "I am not a wealthy woman as you can see, Mr. Holmes," she said. "My father was a professor of music at University and when he died, he was able to leave us with a small amount of money. My mother and I lived comfortably, but at times it was difficult for us. I have always worked as a governess. A few weeks ago, I received a letter in the post. The letter was from a man named Rafe Little and he claimed that he had been a good friend and business partner of my late Uncle Charles Hooper. He wrote that my Uncle had died recently and having never been married and no children, that I was the sole beneficiary to what was left of his fortune."

She paused and looked at both men. "I spoke to Lady McNair about it and she suggested that I go and meet Mr. Little to discuss the terms of my late Uncle's will. I did so two weeks ago," she said.

Sherlock seemed to perk at this and he looked pointedly at her. "You meet with this man without a chaperone?" he asked.

Molly stiffened and attempted to keep her brow from narrowing. "I assure you Mr. Holmes that I am quite capable of taking care of myself. As I have no father or brother to speak for me, I am used to having to make decisions on my own frequently."

His lip quirked and she had the feeling that he was laughing at her. She found she wanted to slap the smirk from his handsome face. She blinked and looked away, shocked by where her thoughts had gone. She could feel the flush moving over her neck and prayed that he had not noticed. She dared to look up again and his smirk had widened, letting her know that he had in deed noticed.

She cleared her throat. "Shall I continue Mr. Holmes," she asked, haughtily.

"By all means, Ms. Hopper," he said with amusement glinting in his eyes.

She stared at him with hard eyes, but continued. "I met with Mr. Little and he showed me my Uncle's will and I had indeed been left a fortune. After I met with Mr. Little, I went straight away to see Lady McNair, as she often advises me now that my mother has passed away. She was thrilled for me and suggested that now that I was an independent woman, that I give notice to my current employer so as to give her time to find a suitable replacement for governess for her child. I did so, however, a few days after that, Mr. Little asked to meet with me again. Apparently, there were some complications, a few small debts to be cleared and some of the money was being held up in other business dealings of my Uncle's. Mr. Little told me that he was doing all the he could to get this matter attended too. Well, as you can imagine, I was greatly distressed as now I had no means of supporting myself. I informed Mr. Little of this, and he was very kind. He offered me a position as music teacher to his young daughter until the money could be placed in an account for me."

Sherlock's brow rose. "How very kind, indeed," he said in a tone that suggested he meant something else entirely.

"Is there something you wish to say, Mr. Holmes?" Molly asked stiffly.

Sherlock's lip quirked once again and Molly clenched her fists. "Not at all, Ms. Hooper," he said. "I was merely agreeing with you."

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Ms. Hooper, please continue," he said gently.

Molly shifted in her seat and smiled at John. "Thank you doctor," she said. "You are very kind. As I was saying, I of course accepted the situation immediately and a few days later, I found myself at Greer House, taking charge of a lovely nine year old girl."

"Greer house is in the country?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she said. "Rather far actually. I have to ride my bike when I need to go anywhere I'm afraid. It is much too far to walk."

"So I observed," Sherlock said looking at her before turning to John. "Notice the scuff on the insides of both shoes John, from the pedals in the bicycle," he said. "and the brightness of her eyes. Also notice the healthy, creamy peach skin on Ms. Hooper's face. It is obvious that she engages in some form of exercise."

Molly could not help the flush that arose from her neck to her cheeks. She quickly looked down and began counting the squares in the carpet.

"It is safe to assume that you find the situation to your liking, Ms. Hooper?" Sherlock inquired, forcing her to look at him and smiling when he saw the blush on her cheeks.

"Yes…" she said slowly, ignoring the burning on her cheeks and the desire to jump over the sofa at him.

"I sense there is hesitation, Ms. Hooper," he said, still smirking. "There must be something else to this story that you have come all this way to tell me. I cannot imagine that you would purposely waste my time."

Molly's temper flared. She had come to this man for help and she had been told that he was respectful and professional. All he had done was mock her since she stepped foot into his flat.

"I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Holmes," she bit out. "I can see that you are not the person to help me." She stood. "Good day, sir," she snapped. "Good day Dr. Watson," she said smiling.

She had just started to take a step when Sherlock spoke. "Sit down, Ms. Hooper," he bit out in a hard voice.

Molly turned to look at him and saw his face was as hard as his voice. They both stood silently glaring at one another. "I said sit down," he repeated.

"My hearing is in no way impaired, thank you very much," she snapped. "I am not used to being spoken too in such a forceful way, especially when I have come to you for help."

"That you have never been spoken too forcefully is obvious Ms. Hooper, by the risks that you take with your own safety. We're you my sister or wife…things would be very different for you, I am sure," he said. "But that is neither here nor there. Now you say that you are not used to being spoken to thusly and I say that I am not used to having my wishes disregarded. Sit down, Ms. Hooper," he said. "I will not ask it of you again."

"Sherlock…"John warned.

"What John," he asked. "She came to us for help and help her I intend to do."

Molly stared at him, biting back the indigent retort that was sitting on the tip of her tongue. Sherlock lifted his brow and wore an expression on his face that almost dared her not to do as he had asked. With an impatient huff, she sat down.

"Now Ms. Hooper, tell me why you hesitated," Sherlock said. "Something else has happened I think which is why you are here today."

Molly swallowed hard and looked down. She suddenly felt very overwhelmed and very alone. She had felt so silly coming to Sherlock Holmes in the first place and now all she felt was cold fear. She could feel the tears begin to sting her eyes. She had struggled so to stay brave as she had no family and no one to go too. But sitting there in the detective's flat with his shrewd eyes appraising her and John's kind gentle eyes waiting for her to speak, she found she could no longer hold in what she had been feeling the past week.

"Oh Mr. Holmes," she said softly. "You are right…all is not a good as I am trying to paint it. I am so frightened."

Sherlock's expression became serious and concern shown in his eyes. "Why are you frightened?"

She looked up at him with wide doe eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. "I am being followed."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Author jumps up and down excitedly with glee that so many of you like this! Thanks for all of your lovely reviews and follows! I appreciate it so much!**

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"Followed," Sherlock repeated thoughtfully. "When did you first notice that you were being followed?"

John leaned over and handed Molly his handkerchief. She took it and mumbled thanks as she dabbed her eyes. She took a steadying breath and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself. Slowly she opened her eyes and refocused them, looking at Sherlock. "It first happened two weeks ago, though at the time, I thought nothing of it. I rode my bicycle to the train station Saturday morning so that I could catch a train into London and I take my bicycle on the train with me. I go every Saturday to visit Lady McNair for the weekend," she said with a slight trembling in her voice. "I was peddling along and I heard something behind me. I turned and I saw a man bicycling behind me. He was several feet back from me. I continued on but looked back once again when I passed Woodland Bridge and he was no longer there. I went on to the train station. When I returned Monday morning, I began my journey back to Greer house and he was there again."

"And he was there last Saturday morning and Monday morning as well?" Sherlock asked.

Molly nodded. "Yes and he was there this morning when I took the train to come and see you, Mr. Holmes."

"You stated that when you went over the Woodland Bridge that he is nowhere to be seen, is that correct?" Sherlock asked her studying her face with such scrutiny, she felt her cheeks redden.

"Yes, it's as if he disappeared into thin air," she said breathlessly.

"There are no side roads?" John asked.

"No, nothing," she said. "Except there are woods on one side of the road which has a few foot paths. I suppose he could make his escape on one of those, but he would have to move very quickly indeed for me not to see him. And on the opposite side of the road is the heath and it is flat and bleak," she said. "He could not have hidden himself there."

"Can you describe this man?" Sherlock asked.

"Well yes," she said. "But only from a distance. He wears a dark suit and he has dark spectacles. He has a beard and dark hair."

"Is he old or young?" John asked.

"I cannot tell that," she said. "I am guessing around middle age."

"Have you told Mr. Little of this?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she said. "And he had ordered a horse and trap so that I need not travel unaccompanied."

Sherlock nodded and turned towards the fire so that she only saw his peripheral. With his eyes not upon her, she took the time to study him. He was a tall man, with pale skin, and lovely, but cold green eyes. His cheek bones were well defined as was his physique. She could see that even through his dark colored suit. He was of medium build and he had large hands with long, graceful fingers. She could see the strength in those hands. She forced herself to turn away when she felt a strange and unnerving feeling begin to coil inside of her stomach. It was then that he turned back to her and called her name. Her stomach flipped at the sound of his voice and she realized with horror that what had been coiling inside of the pit of her stomach was a deep attraction for this cold man.

"Molly," he repeated and she started, realizing that he had used her first name.

"Yes," she said huskily forcing herself to look at him with indifferent eyes. She saw his lip quirked and she could feel the heat rush to her skin. She stared at him, wanting to scratch his eyes out for finding her discomfort so amusing.

"What does Mr. Little do for a living?" he asked still smirking.

"Oh he's quite rich," she said, ignoring how her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Quite rich and he keeps no horse and trap?" Sherlock asked. "He has to order one instead?"

Molly blinked and her expression became puzzled. "Well he is at least well off," she said. "He goes into the city at least two times a week and I have heard him speak of his gold bonds."

"Besides these unfortunate events, you have found life at Greer House pleasant?" Sherlock asked with an odd edge to his voice.

Molly looked at him with her brow creased for a moment, before answering him. "Yes," she said. "It has been delightful. Sara, Mr. Little daughter, is delightful and a most promising student."

"Have you told us everything that has occurred at Greer House, Molly?" Sherlock asked again.

John glanced at him with a raised brow, wondering why his friend had used the lady's first name twice now, as if they were more intimately acquainted. But then, John knew that Sherlock cared very little about conventions and proper etiquette.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," she said looking down suddenly. "I have told you all that I know."

"I am afraid that you have not," Sherlock said pointedly. "You have not told us everything, Molly and I must insist that you do so now."

Sherlock swallowed hard and felt his pulse quicken when she sucked her full bottom lip between her teeth and began to chew nervously. He pushed the alien feeling aside and dismissed it at nothing but nonsense. He could feel himself becoming annoyed that he would even notice such a thing. He had always found women to be particularly silly creatures, much too sentimental and easily swayed when it came to ideas of romance.

"Well, out with it!" he snapped, his aggravation at having a physical response to this woman forced him to be harsher than he intended to be with her.

Molly looked up at him with wide and anguished eyes. "Please, Mr. Holmes, it can have no bearing on this particular incident," she said softly. "Please don't make me repeat it when I have tried so hard to forget."

Sherlock immediately softened. "I am sorry, Ms. Hooper," he said switching back to formality to protect himself or her, he could not be sure. "But I am afraid that you must tell us. It may have more bearing on this than you realize and you have come here for my help."

She nodded and quickly dabbed at her eyes. John reached over and placed his hand over hers, patting it gently. "There, there, Ms. Hooper," he said gently. "Take your time."

Sherlock looked at the large hand that covered Molly's small hand and his eyes narrowed. It was always so bloody easy for John. Sherlock swallowed down the resentment that threatened to force its way out and focused on the small, delicate woman with the elfin features.

Molly took a deep breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips. She glanced back and forth from John to Sherlock and nodded. "Alright," she said softly. "I will tell you of how I met Mr. Jack Woodley."

**_Three days previous…_**

Molly sat at the dinner table in her cranberry colored gown that was adorned with pearls around the neck line and the sleeves. It had been a gift from Mr. Rafe Little in appreciation for the great pains that Molly had taken with his child. Sara was not overly musical but under Molly's tutelage, she had begun to excel at the piano and violin.

Molly had of course balked at accepting such an expensive and personal gift, but Rafe had insisted and he was a very masterful sort of man. She also could not deny how badly she wanted the dress. It was exquisite to look at and complemented her fair skin and chestnut brown hair.

Across from Molly sat Rafe, who was smoking a cigarette as he watched his housekeeper clear the dinner table. At the end of the table sat Mr. Jack Woodley. He was a ridiculous man with ginger hair, stale blue eyes, and an odious mustache that looked more like a fat furry caterpillar that wiggled along his upper lip when he spoke. Jack Woodley was also a man of disgusting table manners as he had failed to notice the food that was stuck within his absurd mustache. He was the exact opposite of what his impeccable dress insinuated about him. He smoked a cigar as he leered at her from his seat.

Rafe glared at him contemptuously, yet he did nothing to stop Woodley from his behavior. Molly could sense that Rafe loathed the man, but she could not understand why he allowed him in the house. Rafe was about to speak when his housekeeper returned with a message for him to come to the door as a package had been delivered by hand as opposed to post.

"If you will excuse me," Rafe said. "I will return shortly." He glared at Woodley as he rose from the table and made a point to leave the door open as he left the room.

Molly sat ram rod still and to her horror, she saw as Woodley arose from his seat and sauntered to the door, closing it. "Now, isn't that better," he said.

"How so?" Molly asked with a hard edge to her voice.

"Because we have privacy," he drawled. "I like privacy, especially with such a beautiful woman." He moved to stand across the table from her. He inhaled the smoke from his cigar and blew it in her face.

"I wish you would stop blowing smoke in my face," she snapped.

"I don't believe that for a moment," he said. "When a woman says she wishes a man wouldn't do something, she generally means the opposite."

"I mean exactly what I am saying, Mr. Woodley," she snapped. "Leave me alone."

"No," he said as he came around the table towards her. "No I won't. Not until I say what is in my heart."

She jumped up from her seat and moved away from him. "What is in your heart?" she repeated with disgust.

"I want you to be my wife," he said. "I am offering you marriage."

Molly's face paled considerably. "That's absurd," she shouted. "Absolutely ludicrous." She made to move towards the door, but he stepped in front of her.

"I would make a good catch. I admit that I am rough around the edges," he said baking her into the table. "But with your tutelage," he let his words trail as he leered at her.

"Get away from me," she snapped.

"I am a wealthy man," he continued on as if she had said nothing. "I can give you anything you desire. Jewels, diamonds…" he said as he ran his hand underneath her breast.

She shoved him away violently. "I don't want diamonds," she said. "I want to be left alone."

Woodley laughed. "I'll give you a while to think about it," he said,

"Oh I have thought about it," she said. "And the question sickens me. There is no way that I would accept you."

"Very well," he said matter of factly. "How about a little kiss, just to show there are no hard feelings between us."

Molly screamed when he grabbed her roughly by the upper arms and held her in a painful grip. "No!" she shouted.

"I already told you that when a woman says no, she means yes," he said, smashing his lips against hers.

She could feel the bile rise in her throat and she gagged at the smell of his stale breath. Molly struggled violently and was able to tear her mouth away. She screamed again. The door to the dining room was flung open and in walked an enraged Rafe. He stormed towards them, wrenching Woodley away from her and delivering a punishing blow to his jaw. Woodley crashed into the floor.

"How dare you molest one of my own house hold?" Rafe roared. "Get out of my house at once, sir!"

Woodley wiped his busted lip and picked himself up from the floor. "Alright," he snapped. "I'll go. I have little time for old maids." He glared spitefully at Molly as he left the room.

Rafe looked at her. "There is nothing that I can offer you but my sincere apologies," he said. "If I swear to you that you will never see his face again, will you stay? For my daughter's sake?"

Molly swallowed hard and wiped at her eyes. "Yes," she said barely above a whisper. "If you can promise he will step foot in this house again."

"I can promise you that, Molly," he said as he left her alone in the room.

**…_..Present…._**

"Blaggard," John said.

Sherlock watched Molly as she tried to conceal her trembling at such an unpleasant memory. It angered him to know she had been treated so foully. His hands clenched at his sides, but his face was as impassive as ever. He did not want to send this woman back to Greer House and yet, he had no rights to her. And where would she stay? At Baker Street with him? Hardly! She was a respectable young woman. He suddenly found himself not only angry with this wretched man Woodley, but himself for feeling such a need to protect this woman. Then his anger began to direct itself at her for causing such unsettling feelings within him. He reigned in his anger for her sake.

"Would it be possible for you to stay with Lady McNair until I can make my investigations?" Sherlock asked.

Molly shook her head. "I couldn't leave Sara," she said. "I have a duty to her no matter what may have happened to me. She is an innocent in all of this."

_As are you!_ Sherlock thought to himself as his lips formed a thin line. _Infuriating woman!_ So she comes to him for help, but refuses his advice and puts herself into danger once again_. If she were but mine…._

Sherlock shook his head and stopped that train of thought before it went any further. She was not his. This woman was nothing more than a client.

"You will help me, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," he said. "I am at your service. Since you insist upon returning to Greer House, I must insist that you stay in contact with myself or Dr. Watson. I will begin my inquiries into your case and you must write to me if your circumstances change at all."

Molly visibly relaxed and smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said with relief. "I feel safer already." She stood, as did John. "Thank you both again," she said moving towards the door.

"Now don't worry, Ms. Hooper," John said reassuringly as he took her hand in his. "All will be well, you will see."

Molly smiled at him warmly and placed her hand over his. "You're very kind," she said. "Goodbye Mr. Holmes and thank you." She turned and left the flat.

Sherlock felt a tightness in his chest that confused him and angered him as he watched her go. He felt the muscle in his jaw clench and the uneasiness begin to move within him. "You are not opposed to a trip to Surrey, John?"

"By no means," John said.

"Splendid," Sherlock said moving towards the door. "I have a few inquiries to make around town and then we shall catch this train this evening."

"What about your breakfast?" John asked as he watched Sherlock leave and begin to take the stairs down two at a time.

"Breakfast," Sherlock shouted. "Oh bother breakfast! One can have breakfast anytime! I'm on a case John."

John heard the door slam shut as Sherlock left the building. "One can have breakfast when it is time for breakfast," he mumbled as he watched Mrs. Hudson climbing the stairs with the breakfast tray. "And it is breakfast time," he said smiling appreciatively at the tray.

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